


Combat Infantry Badge

by MrsMollyH



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Military, Army, Blood, Bloodplay, Control, Dark, Edgeplay, Knifeplay, M/M, Military, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Soldier Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 16:59:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1477147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsMollyH/pseuds/MrsMollyH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Sam goes into the Army instead of to Stanford. He comes back hardened, though not necessarily haunted. </p><p>Note: Copyright infringement not intended. Characters belong to their creators, not me.</p><p>Please heed the tags.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Combat Infantry Badge

Sam Winchester, who had taken his APs and the SAT and who had all the promise in the world, had gone into the Army at 18 as a PV2. He had done his training as an 11B despite having an off the charts ASVAB. And Sam Winchester, in 5 years of service, had deployed three times: twice to Afghanistan, and once to Iraq, wearing that iconic red one on his shoulder because no, he didn't ask to be stationed in Kansas, but they had needed him there. John had called him a candyass for choosing the Army over the Marines and Dean hadn't said a thing at all, but had crawled into a bottle and lived there for the months before Sam went to Basic at Fort Benning.

Sam didn't get in touch during his service, despite being stationed near what had been his home after training. Dean tried once or twice getting on post at Riley, even tried charming the head of S1 at a Manhattan, Kansas bar, but the Army was too much for Dean to manage. Dean even snooped out a case there, a vengeful ghost in Camp Funston who had lost her paramour to the Spanish flu, but John wouldn't have any of it.

Since then, though, Sam had ETSed, honorably completing his service to his country. And finally, he joined back up with Dean, and they had hunted, actually hunted like the Winchesters they were for two years. But Sam came back hardened. They lost their father to the Hell that they both knew. Sam still dreams of his time down range, and sometimes the dreams are nightmares, doubling over on one another.

Sam thrashes in his sleep in the small motel double bed, moaning. The heat couldn’t be helping his nightmares; they were seeking out a skin walker in Midland, Texas and it was the hot hell of August. The air conditioning is lethargic, and Dean is sweating.

Dean rolls over in his double bed, and whispers, "Sammy. Hey Sammy," and Sam whimpers and then opens his eyes slowly. Dean can see in his eyes that he isn't totally in the motel room, mentally. He’s out in the sandbox, his mind in Kabul or Baghdad, he is hot and sweaty in his DCUs, his adrenaline pumping. Sam's hand snakes under his pillow and grabs the knife he kept under there, a Tom Brown tracker he had deployed with. With a tug, Sam pulls it close to his chest and rolls over, going back to a fitful sleep.

When Dean awakes, Sam is returning to the motel room after a run, covered in sweat and dusty from the rural Texas road.

"How ya feelin', there Sammy?" Dean asks, feigning casual. He gets out of bed and crosses half the distance to his brother.

"Fine." It is curt. It means leave me alone.

"Hey man, you know we can talk about it right?" Dean offers, "Maybe it would make things easier…?"

Sam runs a hand through his hair. The hair he has not cut since he got out of the Army, as if he never wanted the vestiges of those regulations on his body again. Dean steps closer, trying to meet his brother’s eyes.

"You know, Dean, when you bring that shit up," Sam whispers, "it really just—I mean—" And in a lightning flash, he punches Dean in the jaw. Dean stumbles back, appalled, startled. "That's what that shit makes me feel." The punch splits the corner of Dean's lip, darkens his jaw with an angry bruise.

"Fuck Sam, I just wanted to see if you needed to talk," and it takes everything Dean has not to punch him back; his hand flashes his lips, catching the blood there.

"You know what I need, Dean? I need a fucking blow job. And I need a drink. But the last fucking thing I need is to talk about my deployments. Because as much as I love my country, as much as I loved serving my country, and as great as I was at my job, war is Hell.” Sam crosses to his brother and yanks his hair. "But you know what Dean? You can help me." And he pushes Dean to his knees, and no, Dean's not averse to any of this, he finds, despite the blood on his lips and the pain in his jaw, the tension of Sam's hand in his hair.

Sam yanks down his running shorts, his cock hard. Dean opens his mouth and Sam thrusts inside, hot, hard, mercilessly. There is no grace to it, and Sam doesn’t let Dean get used to it, just begins fucking his mouth. Dean's lips bleed harder, turning his teeth an obscene red and he's drooling around Sam's cock, licking and sucking, taking every inch.

"Take it Dean, get my cock nice and wet," and Dean's cock fills in his boxers, leaking and hard. Dean’s mouth is wet and red and bright and hot, and Sam’s dick is making obscene silhouettes in Dean’s cheeks. Sam pumps too hard and Dean coughs, but Sam only pulls harder on his hair, making Dean choke and splutter. The move opens the split in Dean’s mouth wider, the blood drooling from Dean’s wet lips. Dean is swallowing fucked out noises around the cock in his mouth. Sam yanks on Dean’s hair, pulling his older brother’s lips from his dick with a hard, dirty pop.

“Get on the bed, Dean,” Sam growls, and Dean obeys immediately, lying on his back. With animalistic smoothness, Sam glides his hand along his bed and picks up the tracker knife he kept there. The knife in his left hand, Sam sucks the fingers of his right hand into his mouth. He makes his way to the end of Dean’s bed, swiveling his hips so his brother’s bowlegs are straddled open, wanton.

“I used this knife to split wood for a fire we needed when I was in Afghanistan the first time. It was November. We were in the mountains and it was below freezing,” Sam is saying, twisting his wrist and admiring the Tom Brown reverently. “In Iraq, I had to use the wire breaker to get my battle buddy out of some wire fence he underestimated.” Sam runs his damp fingers along Dean’s hips and pulls his boxers off. He licks his fingers again and slides them along the crack of Dean’s ass, slipping one inside, then two, scissoring them. Dean hisses at the intrusion, then breathes hard, relaxing into Sam’s touch. Sam’s left hand never lets go of the knife, and he begins fucking Dean with his right hand. 

With extreme care, Sam lowers the tip of the knife to Dean’s solar plexus, barely touching the tip to the thin skin there, and Dean stops breathing, making a high needy noise as Sam adds a third finger. A petal of crimson blood rises around the sharp point of the tracker and slides along Dean’s ribs to stain the sheet under him. Sam shifts his wrist so that the flat of the blade is parallel with Dean’s flesh, and he drags it along the skin, kissing it with the steel and leaving a thin vermilion pillar in its wake. Dean’s pupils are wide open with lust and need and Sam is dancing on the edge with Dean’s control.

“Sam,” and it’s fucked out and raw coming from Dean’s throat and Dean’s cock is as hard as the hilt of the knife. There is blood drying in the corner of Dean’s mouth from the hit he took earlier. Sam lays the knife down next to Dean, and pulls his fingers out of his brother, and immediately replaces them with his dick. With a quick stroke, Sam is striking repeatedly at the most sensitive bundle of nerves inside his brother and Dean is keening, almost howling with each thrust. Sam wraps his massive hand around Dean’s leaking erection, stroking hard in time with his hips. There’s blood on the bedsheets and it’s bubbling from the thin split in Dean’s skin and each thrust sings pain and heat through Dean’s core. Sam pays special attention to his brother's dick, stripping it hard and rolling his hand in rhythm with his hips. Dean is moaning high and needy, Sam's name coming from his lips like cadence. 

Dean is rolling his head side to side, his lips drooling blood and spit and his voice is wrecked from the need there.

Sam is merciless. His hips punish Dean’s ass in a violent rhythm. With each thrust, Sam is closer and closer to falling apart. He's grunting and he touches his mouth to the open flesh on Dean's belly, huffing into the split there. Sam thrusts once, twice, a third time, and Dean is coming, painting his chest white, the blood turning it pink and then Sam is coming too, hot, hard and deep inside his brother with a hard chuff. 

“I never forgot about you over there, Dean,” Sam says, running his thumb over the split in the corner of Dean’s mouth, a quiet promise in the movement. “I just never wanted you to have to see the things I saw.”


End file.
